


The Angel of Time

by Arudon



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Moriarty, And the Daleks Show up, Angel Doctor, Angel Jack, Angel Sherlock, Balthazar!Sherlock, Basically this is a possession story, Canon consistent up to end of season 6, Castiel!Doctor, Jack!Gabriel, Leviathan!Moriarty, Multi, Oh Cyberplanner Moriarty + Leviathan Moriarty, Prophet John, Season 7 divergent, So a lot of characters are fused together, So do the Cybermen, This includes their personalities, Three way war between Heaven Hell and Earth, Two Male OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4974442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arudon/pseuds/Arudon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is on the verge of death. He has been betrayed by Crowley, who instead gave the proper blood to Raphael. However, thanks to a botched attempt, Castiel has been stabbed, Raphael has fled back to heaven, Crowley has retreated to hell, and the Leviathans now walk the Earth. And no one got ahold of the souls.</p><p>Castiel is about to give up, when a mysterious blue box appears. Inside is a man that will allow Castiel to continue to live, as the first ever (not really though, The Master beat him to it) Angel/Timelord hybrid. As he learns more about the situation, he realizes that all is not what it seems, as Daleks begin to appear with a haunting message, the Cybermen dance to the tune of a madman, and Sherlock find his world turned upside down.</p><p>In which Moriarty creates an army of metal soldiers and sea dragons.</p><p>In which the Master rises, with hell at his beck and call.</p><p>In which the Doctor rallies Heaven, to save Earth.</p><p>Heaven shall fall, Hell shall sing, and Earth will burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Introductions Are Made

The rain poured down that night like never before, the heaven's seemingly emptying their watery cargo onto the unoffending planet below. It was almost flood-like, the amount of rain, and lightning flashed across the sky.

Castiel struggled through it, holding a hand to his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He was weak, and he was dying. He knew that. But if there was one thing that he had learned from the Winchesters, it was to never give up, no matter what.

He had thought that he could stand up to Raphael. He had thought he could control the powers he attempted to play with. But instead, he had only managed to make the archangel even more pissed off than before, and had unintentionally released the leviathans into the world. And now he was dying.

He looked at his hand, red with the blood from his vessel, and he knew that no amount of human medicine or angelic healing could save him. His vessel was dying, and he along with it.

He had put Jimmy to sleep long before now, in order to spare him the pain of dying. He knew that his vessel would be going straight to heaven for housing him, but he was still sad. Castiel would not be joining him. For angels, there was no afterlife. There was only non-existence.

He struggled to draw in another breath, and gasped as the moving of his chest forced more blood out of the already leaking wound in his side. By his estimation, he had already lost about a gallon of blood, and if he lost anymore, it would be the end. But he was alright with that. He was fine. He had made peace with god, and he recognized that this was punishment for his failures. He had failed, in everything that he had tried to do. He had failed as an angel.

He had failed to save heaven. He had failed to stop the seals from being broken. He had failed Balthazar and almost killed him, when really he had only been acting with Castiel's best interests in mind. He had failed as a guardian for the Winchesters, and had abandoned them when they needed him most. He had even broken Sam's wall down intentionally, and that was something that he could never forgive himself for.

He had failed so many times.

And yet…

And yet, he didn't feel like it should end this way. He didn't believe that he could just die like this, alone and unwanted, unable to even attempt to fix his mistakes. He didn't want to end it. Not now. Not yet.

Castiel pushed himself off the tree, dragging his bleeding, dark wings behind him. His jet black feathers were all thoroughly soaked, and he didn't have the strength to keep the appendages raised. And so they trailed behind him on the ground, making strange markings in the mud. Occasionally a feather would pull off, the onyx quill wilted and sad, a shadow of its former radiance.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Lightning flashed above him, and Castiel turned his defeated blue eyes to the heavens. Perhaps it was time to end it after all, he thought. His eyes lowered to land on an open field that was almost ankle deep filled with water. Sloshing forward, the bleeding angel trudged out into it, the rain making it almost impossible to see. Lightning was almost always attracted to the tallest thing around, and if he put himself in the middle of the field, he was almost sure to be struck. And then it would all be over.

Lightning flashed again overhead, and Castiel pulled up short. He began to breathe rapidly, panic threatening to overtake him as he started to hyperventilate. "Please, someone help me!" he whispered, his eyes shifting to the dark clouds above as his stood in the center of the rainy field.

Suddenly, a sound filled his ears that he had never heard before. He felt a strange energy wash over him that reminded the angel so much of heaven's limitless supply of grace, but strangely…wasn't.

He couldn't place the feeling, but as he listened the noise began to get louder, a sort of groaning and whooshing sound combined into one. He slowly turned his head to spy a glowing light that pulsated every few seconds, growing stronger with each flare. Slowly, in steady beats, the noise began to increase, and before the astonished angel's eyes, a blue box appeared in the middle of the field, humming slightly. The feeling of not-grace washed over him again, and this time Castiel shuddered as he felt an almost telepathic presence rush through his mind that seemed to emanate from the box. It was warm, like a mother's caress, and soothed the dying angel. Of course, Castiel had never had a mother. Or a real father.

The door to the box swung open, and the angel was dazzled by the light emanating from it. He closed his eyes to shield them from the intensity, but was too exhausted to move anything else. Suddenly, arms were around him, guiding him forward and supporting his weight. "Don't worry, I've got you," whispered the person. 'A man,' Castiel thought. 'A British man.'

Suddenly, the rain stopped, and he felt warmth all around him. Castiel opened his eyes to peer around his surroundings, and gasped as he saw a room the likes of which he had never seen before. It was massive and circular, and in the center stood a large cylinder that pulsated with an aqua blue light. The walls were darker, and supported by coral-like columns. He didn't get to admire it for very long before his body convulsed, pain shooting out from the gaping wound in his side, and he flopped down onto the cold metal grille beneath him. The man above him began to fret around him, and Castiel let out a groan and tried to move his hand.

The man gently held his arms down while he flipped him over and propped him against something that allowed Castiel to sit up partially. "It's all right. You're safe," the man said calmly, hardly more than a whisper in the dying angel's ear. Now that his eyes were open, Castiel could finally get a good look at the man who had saved him.

He had brown, spiky hair that seemed to defy gravity and stuck up in the air. He wore a pinstripe suit and pants along with running shoes. He had a sweeping brown coat that was actually longer than Castiel's own, and had a calm, smooth complexion.

It was his eyes, though, that told Castiel that this man was far from ordinary. His body was young, but his eyes were old. Very old. He could see it in his deep brown eyes that held so much sadness and pain. But Castiel could also see hope in those depths. Despite all the pain and suffering this man had seen, all the death, he still retained hope. Hope that Castiel wished he still felt.

"Who are you?" the wounded angel asked, staring into the eyes of the man who was kneeling before him.

A thin smile spread across the man's lips. "Trust me, I'm the Doctor," he said warmly.

"Doctor Who?" asked the confused angel.

A grin broke out on the Doctor's face. "Exactly!" he exclaimed cryptically. "Now, don't worry, you're in the TARDIS. That stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. I got your message on my psychic paper," the Doctor said as he took out a wallet and flipped it open, only to reveal a blank piece of paper.

"What message?" Castiel asked, his head swimming in confusion. He had honestly only understood half of what the Doctor had said, and was still struggling to draw breath.

His confusion was mirrored by the Doctor, who looked perplexed at the angel. "Don't you remember? You asked for help, see!" the Doctor exclaimed, holding the psychic paper in Castiel's face. Castiel looked again, and this time he saw Jimmy's neat scrawl across the paper, reiterating his cry for help. He was about to respond when his body was racked by pain as more blood pushed out of the wound. The dark winged angel let out a whimper of pain, and the Doctor immediately was there, his hands running over the angel's body in soothing motions.

The Doctor's brown eyes alighted on the dark wings extending behind the angel. They had powerful perception filters on them, and he doubted that any human would be able to see them. "Naturally occurring perception filters. Brilliant!" he breathed out, before his mind was brought back to the present as his patient once again shuddered in pain.

Reaching a hand into the pocket of his coat, he brought out his trusty screwdriver and sent a scanning wave over the man in front of him. Castiel looked up blearily as he heard a strange high pitched whirring noise that passed over his body, and a blue light filled his vision before disappearing.

The Doctor listened as the screwdriver relayed its findings, and his eyes widened. "You're an astral creature inhabiting a human body! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! But wait, you're also…oh…" The Doctor's grin faded as he peered closer at Castiel.

_Dying_

"I'm sorry," The Doctor said softly. "I'm so sorry."

He flicked the sonic over the angel again, this time trying to find the source of the injury. The sonic flashed red when he passed it over the right side of the angel, halfway up his torso. Gently, the Doctor placed his hands on top of the Castiel's. "Do you mind if I...?" the Doctor started to ask, his brown eyes staring at his patient's face until the angel gave a small nod. Gently, the Doctor gripped the bloodied hand and lifted the appendage away from the wound. Using the screwdriver again, he cut through the fabric of the coat and other layers to expose the deep stab wound.

Castiel shrieked in pain as the sonic waves hit the open wound, and the cut began to spark and frizzle as the energy of the angel blade wound began to speed up, killing him faster than before. The Doctor immediately shut the screwdriver off and pressed a pad to the wound, whispering apologies over and over again.

"How did you get that?" he asked finally. Castiel was panting hard as the pain coursed through his system, but the soldier of heaven refused to acknowledge it. "Raphael," he grunted through gritted teeth. "Crowley…the demon…betrayed me. Gave…Raphael…the blood...instead." Castiel gasped out, before convulsing again. The Doctor's soothing presence was immediately back, his essence spilling over the angel in a manner so reminiscent of grace.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, brown eyes full of worry as he stared at his patient. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that the answer would be negative, and his hunch was confirmed when Castiel gave a tiny shake of his head.

"My vessel is dying," he whispered hoarsely, his voice having given out by now. "The only thing that could save me would be to transfer to a different vessel. But even that wouldn't work," Castiel said, all hope leaving his gaze. The Doctor, however, was not so quick to give up. He had lost Rose, Donna, Martha, and even Jack, and he sure as hell wasn't letting this angel die. "Why?" he asked urgently, his hand gripping the sides of Castiel's face to force the angel to look at him. "Why would that not work?" he demanded.

Castiel stared evenly in front of him, his eyes gazing through the Doctor as if he wasn't there. "No human on this earth has the physical capability of sustaining a dying angel. They would use up their life force too fast and burn up with me. You would need two hearts to even begin to accomplish it."

As he said these words, a fire seemed to be lit in the Doctor's eyes, and his hands tightened just a fraction on Castiel's face. The angel's eyes drew back to the Doctor's own fiery brown, as if just noticing him. The Doctor chewed his bottom lip for a moment, debating with himself whether or not to follow through with the plan he was concocting in his head. His Timelord mind raced down a million paths at once, before finally he reached a conclusion.

"What would it take for you to possess someone?" he asked, drawing a startled look from Castiel. The angel was flabbergasted, had the man not heard what he had just said? "What?" he asked, forgetting his pain for a moment to focus on what the strange man had just said.

"No questions, just answers. What would it take for you to possess someone? I assume it requires a little bit on the hosts part, or you would have jumped ship long before now!" the Doctor replied earnestly.

Castiel nodded. "Angels need permission to enter a vessel. The host has to say yes," he gasped out.

The Doctor's eyes became firmer, pinpoints of brown fire. "Then I say 'Yes!'" he said.

Castiel's mouth dropped open. "Did you not understand what I said earlier? No human, not even you, can support me. It's hopeless!" he cried, attempting to gesture with his arms only to have them be caught by the Doctor.

"Of course I heard you," the Timelord said calmly. "How could I not. But I'm not human, and I'm much stronger than them," he said softly, his brown eyes full of kindness.

Castiel was beyond shocked. "What?" he gasped out, his blue eyes wide with complete and total incomprehension.

The Doctor took firm hold of one of Castiel's hands and placed it on the right side of his chest. Castiel felt a firm heartbeat beneath his fingertips. "I'm saying that I have two hearts," the Doctor whispered, moving Castiel's other hand to the left side of his chest, where the angel felt another heartbeat.

1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4 went the hearts, and Castiel could only look on with awe at the power surging beneath his fingertips. The sheer energy contained within the Timelord. It was truly formidable.

"Who are you? Why would you do this for me?" he asked, unable to believe that a failure like him was worthy of being offered such a chance. The Doctor looked at him with a kind and knowing smile. "I am the Doctor, last of the Timelords. My home planet is Gallifrey of the constellation of Kasterborous. I am nine hundred and fifty three years old, and I am doing this for you because you deserve it."

Castiel was speechless, staring incredulously at the man before him as if he were God himself. He wondered for a moment if this wasn't just a product of his delirious mind. The Doctor took his hand again, as if to ground him in reality. "And I'm saying: Yes."

Castiel nodded. That he understood.

"Are you sure?" he asked, wanting to be absolutely positive that the Doctor was aware of what he was asking. "I'll be in your head, in your body, in your very soul. I'll be feeding off you like a parasite, and I-"

"Yes, I already considered all of that, and I am perfectly aware of what will happen to me. But I also realize what will happen to you if I refuse. I am well aware of the risks and consequences."

Castiel eyed him warily before shifting to try to stand. The Doctor immediately grabbed him and helped him up onto his feet, the angel's back supported on one of the coral columns and his limp wings spread to either side. The Doctor backed away and held his position, his feet planted and his arms held loosely at his side, his eyes locked with that of Castiel. Behind him, the heart of the TARDIS pulsed with power, radiating the strange grace that Castiel found so attractive and exotic. "Are you ready?" the angel asked, his blue eyes locking onto the fiery brown ones of the Doctor.

The Timelord let a grin crack across his face. "Allons'y!" he cried.

Castiel exploded into brilliant white light, his arms thrown back and his wings outstretched as the angel's essence left the body of Jimmy Novak for the first time since Castiel had entered it. The bluish-white smoke surged forward, surrounding the Doctor before melting into his skin, the angel's essence wrapping around his soul and settling into his body.

The Doctor gasped as the angel's power exploded inside of him, and suddenly, a part of him shifted. He looked down at his hand to see that it was glowing golden, like it was going to regenerate. But this wasn't regeneration, it felt different. No, this was something completely different. It was change, yes, but not a physical one. It was a change in spirit. In soul. In  _grace_!

He flung his arms out and tilted his head back, the combined energy of Time and Grace exploding outwards from him in a great fireball.

He was The Doctor. The Oncoming Storm. The Predator of the Daleks. The Last of the Timelords. Defender of Earth. He stood at the center of time and space, like ice and fire.

The Lonely Angel.

He was Castiel. Angel of the Lord. Champion of Heaven. Preventer of the Apocalypse. Defender of Humanity. Guardian of Sam and Dean Winchester, and he stood at the center of the Supernatural forces on Earth.

The Fallen Angel.

And then, they were one. They were Castiel and The Doctor. Timelord and Angel. Together in one body. Burning with the power of Righteous Grace and the entirety of the Time Vortex.

Time and Matter bent before them.

They were a raging storm, unstoppable, unquenchable.

Six great, powerful wings exploded from the Timelord's body, dark raven feathers coupled with golden artron energy that practically dripped off of them. The Timelord's own grace, time itself, fed the dying angel, and renewed them both. Inspired them.

Together, they were whole. No longer lonely. No longer Fallen.

"I am the Doctor, angel of the lord."

"Allons'y!"

And with that, he collapsed, the two minds collapsing in on themselves as they tried to rectify their new existence.

 

 


	2. In Which Stories Are Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and The Doctor have fused, but this is certainly not the end of their trials. After all, the minds of an angel and a Timelord are not very compatible, are they? Right? Right????

The Doctor's body was sprawled across the console room floor, face up, with his six impressive black and gold wings spread out behind him. Or was it Castiel's body now?

The two had collapsed after the merging, their consciousness both shutting down to allow the Doctor's body to accustom itself to having the foreign energy inside of it. The possession process had been so intense that the Doctor had feared his body would just straight up regenerate. Fortunately this was not the case, and he had been allowed to keep his face.

He now rested in a dream-world, a big flat patch of nothingness created by both his and the angel's subconscious minds. He was currently sitting with his back resting against an indistinct bump in the ground that might have been some kind of bush. In front of him stood Castiel, looking like he had before he had crossed into the Doctor's body. However, neither man had any semblance of wings on them, and both were buck nude.

The angel of Thursday was looking off into the distance of the dream-realm, where he could see roiling white billowing clouds and a powerful golden sea that seemed to be fighting. His blue eyes were filled with puzzlement as he continued to stare, not understanding exactly what he was seeing.

"It's our essences, you know," said the Doctor's voice from behind him, starting Castiel from his reverie. The angel turned slowly to look at the other man, who was playing carelessly with the strange mist like substance that seemed to permeate the entirety of this realm.

"What?" Castiel asked, growing a little tired of asking that question. The Doctor flashed him a grin before standing up from his seat on the ground. Slowly, he walked over to stand by the angel, his eyes directed out to the roiling clouds and sea. "Those clouds, they're not really clouds. They're what you called your grace," the Doctor said, extending his hand to gesture towards the bluish white essence. Castiel turned his eyes from the Doctor and back to the horizon. "So that sea is…" Castiel started to say, before he was cut off by the Doctor's quick interjection.

"That's me. Or rather, that's the time vortex energy that pulses within me," he explained, and Castiel turned his head to look at the other man. The Doctor turned to face him as well, his deep brown eyes meeting the ethereal blue of the angel's. "I don't understand," the angel said softly, his eyes peering into the Doctor as if to try to pull the answers from the depths of the man's being.

The Doctor gave a light laugh before returning his eyes to the horizon. His grin slowly faded, and Castiel watched in amazement as the sky above them grew dark, shifting from the blank whiteness to a dark, surreal background. The Doctor's eyes grew sad, and suddenly a great orb appeared in the darkness, red and glowing. "I was born on Gallifrey, the home of the Timelords," he said, the orb expanding until Castiel could see that it was indeed an image of the Doctor's home planet. The image shifted, as if the viewer was falling towards the sphere and hurtling through the atmosphere.

Castiel gasped as he saw knee high red grass stretching across an incredible valley, while mountains capped with golden snow soared high in the background. "The Timelords were the oldest race in the universe, sworn to observe all of time and space, never to interfere." The angel watched the accompanying images as a man dressed in a deep red robe and ornate head-crest filled the sky.

"We were taken at the age of eight to begin our initiation process into the academy," the Doctor said, his brown eyes glowing with sadness. "We were brought out at night, and made to stare into the untempered schism. Sort of like a crack in space and time, through which you can see all of reality all at once. Eight years old…" the Doctor's voice trailed off, and for the first time since meeting him Castiel could truly believe that the man was over nine hundred years old. He looked up to see a swirling wormhole, pulsating with time and power, the kind of which could drive you mad.

"Some were inspired," the Doctor continued, his voice threatening to crack. "Others ran." He looked down as he said this. "And some," the Doctor practically whispered. "Went mad." The images that flashed across the sky grew distorted and grotesque, and Castiel forced himself to look away.

When the sky cleared, the angel allowed himself to open his eyes. Turning, he stared with wide blue eyes at the man standing next to him, in awe of his power.

"Which one were you?" he asked quietly, to which the Doctor suddenly laughed out loud. "Oh, Castiel, which do you think I was? I ran!" he cried, his laughter ringing out across the empty space. "I ran so far and so fast. I never stopped actually," he said quietly, his grin still resting easily on his face.

He shook his head. "Anyway, that's what that energy is," he said, gesturing to the roiling sea. Turning, he gazed at the angel next to him with his intense brown eyes. "So what about you, Castiel? What's your story?" he asked with amusement in his voice. Castiel allowed a small smile to come onto his face, turning his eyes to look from the sea to the clouds.

"My story isn't as dramatic as yours, Doctor," he said, rolling his shoulders a bit as his eyes slowly got a faraway look in them. The Doctor could swear he saw the starlight reflected in those deep blue eyes of his. "I was one of the last angels that my Father made. I never actually saw him. God, that is," he said quickly when he saw a quizzical look in the Doctor's gaze. "Angels are different from humans and other creations of god, as we aren't given much free will. We're mostly just expected to obey without question, going around like good little soldiers."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose at Castiel's description. He was a free roaming spirit, and the idea of taking orders from anyone was repulsive to him.

"For most of my life I was just an emotionless hammer. I was there at the slaughter of every single firstborn in Egypt, and I was there when Sodom and Gomorrah fell." Castiel's eyes were unreadable, a blank expression on the angel's face. He looked down at his feet, shifting them in the mist.

"But I was always different from my brothers," he said, his voice soft and light, contrary to his normal gruffness. "Naomi said I had a crack in my chassis, and that I never fully followed my orders. I tried to save one of the children in Egypt, and I did not agree with all the wanton destruction that took place during the old testament." He looked up at the clouds again, his face once again unreadable.

"That all changed one day when I received the order to save a human from damnation. His name was Dean Winchester." An image flashed across the sky of a young man with dirty blond, crew cut hair and moss green eyes. "He was saved to be the vessel of Michael, and his brother, Sam, was to be that of Lucifer. Together, they were supposed to fight the apocalypse. But they refused, and I joined them."

A smile appeared on the angel's face, looking pleased for the first time since he had begun speaking. "Together, the Winchesters and I stopped the apocalypse, but Sam was cast into the pit along with Lucifer and Michael." Castiel's face fell, the dark memories of his next deeds coming back to him.

"I thought that I was strong, that I was better than others. And so I raised Sam from the pit."

It was the Doctor's turn to look awed, and he stared at the man next to him with open shock. "You can do that?" he asked breathlessly. "You can actually raise people from the dead?"

Castiel nodded. "I can, and I have done so on many occasions. However, this time, I wasn't able to bring all of Sam back. Instead, I brought him back soulless. Eventually, after making a deal with the horseman Death, we were able to put his soul back in, but with a wall placed around the memories of hell to keep Sam from going insane. That should have been my warning. Should have showed me that I wasn't infalliable. I should have spent more time with them." Castiel shook his head.

"I was fighting a war however, against my brother, the archangel Raphael, and I d didn't have time for them. Foolishly I decided to use some desperate measures, thinking that I could control whatever god put in my way."

Castiel began to speak faster, as if doing so would make the next part easier to admit.

"I forged a deal with a demon. Crowley, king of hell," he said, his starry blue eyes heavy with shame. "Together, we plotted to open a portal to Purgatory, where I could retrieve the fifty thousand souls stored there. We should have left it alone," he said, casting his eyes downward as an image of Crowley crossed across the sky, and the Doctor felt a strange ping of recognition when he looked on the man's face. Maybe it was someone he had seen before? Or will see? The Doctor didn't know, and his thoughts were once again recaptured by the angel of Thursday as he continued to speak.

"Crowley gave me the wrong blood. He was incensed that I had gone back on our deal, and so he gave the proper blood to Raphael." Castiel shivered as he remembered his older brother staring down at him with those cold brown eyes, just brimming with righteous fury. "I confronted them as they were opening the portal, and as a result they botched it. The creatures from purgatory, Leviathans, escaped out into the world, and I was wounded by one of Raphael's pawns."

The angel's hand went to his side, unknowingly rubbing the spot where the angel blade had been thrust into his body.

The Doctor's eyes softened as he gazed at the angel. "And then you called for help. And I came," he said softly, his eyes full of compassion. "It's alright, you know," he said softly, and the angel's celestial blue eyes met his timeless brown ones, Castiel's face displaying nothing but bafflement by the Timelord's statement.

"How can you say that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side in bewilderment. "Do you even understand what I did? I released the Leviathans. _Leviathans_!" he cried, his voice rising. "They are the most terrible, horrible monsters you can imagine. They can easily kill an angel, and they devour human flesh as nourishment. They were locked away by God for a _reason_ , and I went and broke the seal, tampering with things that should have been best left alone. How can you possibly forgive me for that?!" he yelled, his voice practically quivering with a frantic urgency.

He stopped speaking all together went he felt a warm hand cup his chin and raise his eyes to meet those of fiery brown. The Doctor looked evenly into the eyes of the soldier of heaven, his own fiery brown orbs full of empathy. "I understand," he whispered softly, his voice echoing through the angel's thoughts as the Timelord's mere presence seemed to calm him.

"I've done terrible things as well," the Doctor whispered, his voice betraying not a hint of the storm raging behind his gaze. "I am the last of the Timelords for a reason. I fought in one of the greatest wars ever, and in the end, I had to choose between letting my own people wipe out all of time and space, or destroy both the Daleks and Timelords alike. I can never go back to that planet, Castiel. I can never go home. On that day, Gallifrey burnt."

The Doctor's eyes finally betrayed some of the inner turmoil he was feeling, the raging fires giving way to reveal the loss and sorrow the Doctor carried with him always.

"So when I say I understand, Castiel, I mean it," the Doctor insisted, placing both hands on the angel's shoulders and turning to face him fully.

"I ruined my home," Castiel whispered, his blue eyes reflecting the starlight of the heavens.

"And I burnt mine," the Doctor countered, his own eyes burning with the fires of time.

"And together, we can find redemption," the Doctor said, his face hardening with determination.

Castiel paused, and cocked his head to the side slightly. "Can we?" he asked. "Can we really find redemption for all that we have done?"

The Doctor paused as well, before determination once again reformed on his features. "Castiel," he whispered. "I am going to tell you something that I have never told anyone else in the universe," he said.

"I'm going to tell you my name," he said quietly, as he leaned forward to place his lips right by the angel's ear. Then, he whispered something quietly, so quiet that all you could see was his lips moving.

Castiel gasped and immediately began to glow white, as the Doctor embraced him, his own thin form beginning to glow with a golden energy. Behind them on the horizon, the golden sea of the Time Vortex surged skyward, while the bluish white clouds of Angelic Grace descended, embracing the sea in a warm welcome. Together, the Doctor and Castiel seemed to merge, while behind them the sky and sea swirled together, their two energies mixing like never before. As the process continued, the Timelord's mind and the angel's consciousness swirled together, sharing memories until they were indistinguishable.

He was no longer just the Doctor. He was no longer simply Castiel. They were gone forever, and where they ended, a new man was born, created from the fires of time and space.

He was the sainted Physician, the angel of Thursday.

He was the Doctor, angel of Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, comment! I feed off of the energy they provide me!  
> .l  
> .l  
> .l  
> .l  
> .l  
> .l  
> V


	3. In Which Sam Gets a Memory Transplant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor, now a fully integrated Angel of Time, sets off to make amends with his favorite pair of Winchester brothers and their surly Uncle

With a gasp, the man's eyes flew open, revealing burning brown eyes with flecks of celestial blue strewn across the irises. Beneath him, his six powerful wings shuddered, opening and closing as they spasmed, while the TARDIS began to hum, tails of artron energy seeping from the console to supply the angel with new grace. His two hearts began to beat with a vengeance, and his nervous system finally finished adjusting to the changes of anatomy.

The Doctor sat up, running a hand through his hair, before feeling a trace of the feathers on his back. Running a hand through his new wings, the angel couldn't help but admire how they had changed. No longer were they simply black, as they had been before. Now, they had an ethereal golden glow to them, and scattered through the black was an occasional golden feather, each of which pulsed with the grace from the heart of the TARDIS, the Time Vortex filling up the angel of Time with its miraculous energy.

The Doctor finally stood up and stumbled over to the console, his only thoughts were occupied with the need to find the Winchesters immediately. He had left them in terrible danger, and he had to return to them quickly. He only hoped that he could save Sam, and that Dean would forgive him. Turning the levers on the console, the Doctor took the TARDIS away from the rain soaked field and into the time-vortex. Outside the walls of the TARDIS swirled the fabric of reality, the shields of the ship holding it back with her own colossal power.

Now that he was no longer strictly an angel, he could sense all the warding sigils he had placed on his two charges, regardless of if they were meant to keep him away or keep track of them. And with his new power, he could feel them calling to him from across all of space and time, as clear as if it were a foghorn right next to his ear. He programmed the view screen to show the locations, and noted their positions. Sam was at Northern Indiana State Hospital, and Dean was a few miles south with the older hunter, Bobby Singer.

The Doctor's smile lifted his features as an image of Dean and Bobby in the Impala flashed up on the screen. The Doctor was about to start his usual routine of dashing around the console when he paused and took a look at his wings.

The six, huge wings hung gracefully behind him, the feathers soft but sleek, obviously meant for use. He stretched them experimentally, and an idea suddenly formed inside his mind. The TARDIS was supposed to be piloted by six people, hence all the running around and extra leg-work the Doctor usually had to do. Six people, six wings. The Doctor's smile grew.

Tentatively, he stretched out one of his right wings and touched it to a lever. With a little push, the wing forced the lever up and into the correct position. The central column began to move up and down, and the TARDIS's distinctive noise began to radiate throughout the ship as it set off in a new direction.

Dashing around, the Doctor used all eight of his appendages to manipulate the TARDIS controls, his six huge wings surprisingly dexterous and capable of stretching across the console to press controls on the opposite side. Within a few moments, the ship landed with a thud. The Doctor did a quick check on the screen and found that he had landed about two months from when he had found his other half. In-precise, but still, what can you expect. She is a type 40, after all.

Laughing, the Doctor sprinted to the door and opened it looking around at the hospital ward he had landed in. He had set the TARDIS to land silently and invisibly, so as not to alarm anyone when he arrived. Then, looking around, the Doctor's brown and blue flecked eyes landed on the sad figure of Sam Winchester.

The tall man was dressed in a hospital patient's attire, and his long, lanky form was stretched out face up on a bed. His eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead of him at the ceiling, but every few seconds his body would twitch or his finger would move. His expression was that of a cornered animal, fear printed on every angle, and his long brown hair was a rat's nest. All in all, he was a pathetic shadow of the man that he had been before.

The angel of time slowly walked over to him, his hands in the pockets of his long brown coat, a sorrowful expression on his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, and his voice caught the attention of the prostrate man. Snapping his brown almond eyes to the side, Sam stared at the Doctor. However, his hallucination driven mind did not see the Doctor standing there, but instead the monstrous version of the archangel that had tormented him in the pit. "No," he whispered in fear, his eyes wide as he watched Lucifer scan him over with a strange blue device.

The Doctor frowned at the feedback his sonic screwdriver had given him. The tool had been amped up with the heavenly grace of its user now, and could now identify practically any sort of supernatural anomaly. It could even do wood!

Apparently, Sam was still stuck in his hallucinations, and there was no hope of replacing the wall. There was actually very little the Doctor  _could_  do without hurting Sam.

Turning about, the Doctor strode into the center of the room and flared his wings, picturing exactly where he wanted to be. With a flap of his wings and a flare of his unique grace, the Doctor was gone from the hospital room and in the back seat of the Impala. Smiling, he opened his mouth to deliver his usual greeting.

"Hello Dean,"

"Son of a Bitch!" Dean screamed, and the car swerved to the side of the road.

* * *

 

Dean was not happy. In fact, he was downright _pissed off!_ The Leviathans were _everywhere_ , causing havoc, eating people, and overall being a real pain in his ass. And now, there was a British idiot smiling at him from the back seat of his car.

With instincts that could only be attained after years of being in the hunting profession, Bobby spun around with a knife already in his hand, stabbing it towards the man's head while the Impala went skidding to the side of the road, the rubber wheels burning tire marks into the asphalt. The man disappeared, however, and both he and Bobby scrambled out of the car to see him standing near the trunk. Dean had his gun out in instant, trained on the man's head.

Dean's gaze narrowed as he scrutinized the man

He was, probably, the strangest man he'd seen in long time, and that was saying something! He had a long, deep brown coat that almost brushed the ground over a pinstripe suit with trainers. He had an idiotic grin on his face, and hair that seemed to be defying gravity. He heard Bobby cock his shotgun next to him, and the older hunter's presence reassured him a bit.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, cold green eyes staring into the strange brown eyes of the man before him. He noted, with some interest, that the man's eyes had small flecks of bright sapphire blue interwoven with the brown, making him seem almost otherworldly. The man's smile didn't leave his face, but rather than seem creepy like Dean knew it should, it seemed almost familiar.

"Hello Dean," the man said again, his British accent prominent with every word he spoke. Still, something about the way he said those words, a certain inflection and shift in tone, was strangely familiar to the hunter, and he couldn't shake the feeling off. His shoulder began to ache, the one with the handprint on it, but that only happened when he was around…

"Cas?" Dean asked softly, his mouth side open in shock. Beside him, Bobby glanced at Dean as if he'd lost his mind, but Dean only had eyes for the man before him as the angel slowly nodded his head.

Slowly, Dean lowered his gun, but didn't holster it. His other hand went quietly behind his back, where he gripped the handle of his angel blade stored in its sheath. Recent experiences with the angel had taught him to be wary of Castiel. "What happened to you man?" he asked quietly, still in shock.

The angel of time slowly lowered his hand and approached cautiously, taking slow and deliberate steps to keep from alarming Dean, until he was within a few feet of the hunter. His smile had faded, but the warmth was still there. He purred happily inside as he saw the warmth returned somewhat by the hunter, indicating that while not entirely forgiven, he still had a shot at convincing the hunter that he was sorry.

"I was stabbed by Raphael's pawns, as you saw," he said softly, motioning to the spot on his torso where his previous vessel had been struck. "I was dying, and I called out for help. This man found me, and I merged with him. You can call me the Doctor now," he explained, and one eyebrow rose on Dean's face.

Suddenly, in a blur of motion, Dean grabbed the Doctor and spun him around, pinning his back against the hood of the Impala while an angel blade came to rest on his throat. "You better start explaining better," Dean growled, his green eyes filled with fury. "'Cause last time I saw you, you were two steps from being angel dust. And now you expect me to believe you can just hop into a new vessel? And what's with this, 'Doctor' crap?" Dean growled out, his gruff voice echoing in the angel's ears.

"Dean, stop. Just listen," the Doctor said quickly as the hunter applied a little more pressure to the blade. "I'm right here and waiting, so you better start talking," Dean said, his gaze boring into the Doctor's, daring him to cross him.

The angel sighed. "The Doctor found me after I had given up hope. I was ready to die, but he was willing to host me. He's not human, Dean, but he's not a monster."

Dean's eyes flew open at that, and a snarl ripped from his throat. "Anything that's not human is either an angel, a demon, or a monster, Cas. What's this thing eat? Hearts? Brains?"

The angel shook his head. "He's a Timelord!" he cried, and that halted Dean's aggression. "What, so he's like Chronos?" he asked, his eyes staring into the brown and blue flecked orbs.

The Doctor shook his head again. "I merged completely with him Dean, and he is nothing like what you can imagine. He is not a monster or a god, but he is powerful. He has saved humanity time and time again, and you've never even known he was there. He is the Oncoming Storm, the Sainted Physician, the Lonely God. And now, he's my vessel!"

With a snap of his grace, the angel blade went spinning out of Dean's hands to fly across the street, clattering and clanking loudly. Dean looked in shock as golden artron energy flowed out from the man, outlining his six powerful wings that were draped over the car. The Doctor seemed to glow with power for a moment, but then it died away, the energy flowing back into his body, and the wings disappeared from sight.

Dean and the Doctor locked eyes for a moment, a silent battle of wills taking place between them, before finally Dean conceded and let go of the Doctor's coat. The angel of time watched the hunter back away, and slowly slid off the hood of the car, his wings folding in behind him. Their gaze was broken by a cough from Bobby, the gristled hunter having been completely forgotten during the course of the confrontation.

"Well, now that we've gone and reacquainted ourselves, is there a particular reason you came to see us?" Bobby asked, his shotgun still cocked in his hand. Dean may have cleared things with the man before him, but Bobby was still wary.

The Doctor seemed to ignore the man's apprehension and immediately answered his question. "Yes, I did. I came here to tell you that I'm going to try to heal Sam."

Dean and Bobby both glanced between each other, obviously doubtful that that was the only reason. "And you had to get us for that?" Dean asked, drawing the Doctor's attention back to him.

The angel smiled. "Yes, I need you there to comfort Sam when he wakes up and also to protect him in case something goes wrong," he said, his mouth moving faster than should be possible.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And why would you want to do that? I thought you had washed your hands of us when you decided to go all 'my way or the highway!'"

The Doctor shook his head again. "I told you when this was all over that I would save Sam. And that is what I intend to do," he said confidently. Dean nodded and opened the front door of the impala, climbing in and starting the engine. Bobby got into the shotgun seat, and after a moment of deliberation, the Doctor got in the back. Pulling off the side of the road, Dean set off north, heading towards the hospital.

* * *

 

After a few errors, the Doctor eventually managed to lead them straight to where Sam was. His connection to the TARDIS helped immensely, and before long they were standing before the man as he twitched on his hospital bed. The Doctor walked forward and peered down at him, running an diagnosing scan over him with the sonic. Dean had been astounded by all the things the tool could do, and the Doctor had promised to give him one ("I'll never have another problem with my baby again!")

The diagnosis was the same as before, and the Doctor still saw no way of getting rid of the memories. He couldn't perform a mind wipe, even with his combined Timelord and angel skills, for they were too powerful to be destroyed. After running several calculations through his head, the Doctor came to the conclusion that the only way to cure him would be to transfer the memories to someone else.

And the Doctor knew that he could never force anyone else to carry this burden. He had caused it, so he would fix it.

Turning to Dean and Bobby, he told them his plan. "But then you'll be a vegetable just like Sam," Bobby said, his frown on his face. The Doctor shook his head. "The memories are specifically meant for Sam. Technically, if I took them, they would fade, since their not meant for me. Also, I have the advantage of a Timelord mind. The Timelords' greatest weapons were always our minds, and I highly doubt a few memories would prove to be much of a challenge," he said.

However, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which were full of sadness.

Rule 1: The Doctor lies

He doubted he would be able to do all he said. Sam's case was very serious, but he was an angel of his word. He would do whatever it took to fix Sam.

Slowly, he approached the prostrate hunter. Sam's almond brown eyes fixed on him, full of fear. "Alright Sam, this might sting a bit. And if I don't get to say it later, I'm sorry."

"No!" gasped Sam, his mind still hallucinating.

"Hush, now. Don't worry. It looks like you need a Doctor," the angel of time said, before placing two fingers on Sam's temple. Immediately, red lines shifted from Sam's head into the fingers, up his arm, across his chest, and into his eyes as the Doctor drained the memories of hell from Sam.

With a gasp, Sam blinked, glancing at his brother, Bobby, and the man who sat before him. "Who are you?" he asked, and the Doctor glanced down at him.

Immediately, all color left the Doctor's face and he sprang away, his eyes wide and his mouth open in horror.

Instead of Sam, there was a man with a black hoody over a red t-shirt lying down on the bed. Blond platinum hair adorned his head, and golden stubble covered his leering face. Stretched out on the bed were six monstrous red wings, their color the same as blood.

"Hello Doctor," whispered the man on the bed, his brown eyes staring at the retreating angel. Those eyes were dancing with insanity, and a ring of gold wrapped around the iris of each eye. That was a feature that always stayed with him, no matter the face.

"No, please no!" the Doctor whispered, pressing himself flat against the wall, his six black wings hugging himself as if to protect him from the man before him.

"Use my name!" the man hissed, staring hungrily at the Doctor.

"Master," whispered the Doctor, and the room was suddenly filled with the insane laughter of the manic Timelord.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" he hissed, and the Doctor collapsed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, review. Comment. FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
> 
> Pretty please? TvT


	4. In Which The Master Goes To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the hell did the Master end up with Lucifer's wings? Well, here's your answer. 
> 
> The Master is sent to hell, where he makes some startling new realizations and pisses off our favorite White-Eyed Demon (no not her).

"Will it stop Doctor?" the Master asked, staring into the horrified, sorrow-filled eyes of the Doctor as he lay in the other's arms on the bridge of the Valiant, feeling his life slipping away through the bullet hole in his chest. "The drumming!" he gasped. "Will it stop?"

"Please, I can help. Just let me help!" the Doctor cried, his eyes full of torment, desperation, and fear bordering on hysteria. " _Regenerate!_ " he cried.

The Master's breathing began to grow faster, and his eyes bugged out. Liquid splashed onto his face, tears falling from the eyes of his oldest friend. "I win," he whispered.

The pounding in his ears was growing louder, and louder, and louder, and LOUDER!

1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4!  **1-2-3-4! _1-2-3-4!_**

**_1-2-3-4!_ **

And then, suddenly, his eyes rolled back, his lids closed, and the Doctor was now the last Timelord. Once again.

The Doctor cradled his body to his chest, the tears streaming from his eyes as an anguish unimanginable to any other creature pulsed through his body.

" _Nooooo!_ " he screamed into the Master's head as he began to rock back and forth, clinging to the other's body as if physical contact would bring him back. But nothing could.

Koschei was dead.

* * *

 

The Master opened his eyes slowly, before his brow furrowed in confusion. 'This is the afterlife?' he thought, looking around at the massive stretch of chains, darkness, and smoke. An acrid smell wafted into his nose, and his acute Timelord senses picked out blood, sulfur, and burning flesh. Somewhere far below him he heard a scream of pain, and the smell of blood grew stronger.

The Master was about to get a better view of his surroundings when a noise slammed into his head.

1-2-3-4! 1-2-3-4!

The Drums! They were back! The Master closed his eyes as he felt the loving caress of insanity embrace his mind, the Drums banging about in their usual tandem, calling him to fight, to conquer, to own, to  _rule!_

**_1-2-3-4! Bang!Bang!Bang!Bang!_ **

He was the Master, and he would be damned (HA!) if he was just going to sit here and let someone else dictate his fate. He opened his eyes, the golden rings that were present in every one of his regenerations wrapping around his irises as the drums grew louder in his head. Those rings were always so hypnotic, allowing him to practically gaze into a person's soul.

Twisting to the side, the Master saw that he was suspended over a vast, black, smoky void by chains that were hooked into his skin. It didn't hurt unless he moved, and even then it was only a small tickle. He could feel his body (was it his body or his soul?) already working on trying to heal over the wounds. Timelord anatomy was much more advanced than human's, and the Master, if he wished it, could shut off the pain receptors in his brain. He could be electrocuted in the balls, and he wouldn't even feel a tingle.

The Master heard a series of screams coming from the right, and he looked over to see another soul (probably one of the gormless apes that inhabited this backwater planet) writhing in pain as a smoky, seven armed figure with deep red eyes hacked into it with the rusty claws that adorned three of his hands. The creature apparently had no problem hovering over the abyss, and he winced as he heard a huge tearing sound from the tortured soul.

Obviously the creature was meant to be here, and if he was to get any answers, he might as well get it's attention. Hopefully without arousing its ire.

"Oi, Smokey! Mind telling me where the hell I am?" he cried.

Let it never be said that the Master was cowardly.

The creature turned its huge, ugly red eyes on the Timelord. A perverse grin spread across its features as it ripped its claws out of the tortured human, who gave a little whimper.

Let it also be said that the Master wasn't exactly the fastest TARDIS in the vault either. Apparently he had made a wrong move, he thought, as the creature floated over to him with a wicked smile on its face.

"Welcome to Hell!" it cried, and the Master wrinkled his nose. The creature had the worst voice he had ever heard, and being over a thousand years old and having visited almost every planet in the known universe (and there were far too many of those, in his opinion) that was saying something. It sounded like a tortured cat had been made to gargle some gasoline before being chucked into the time vortex without a TARDIS. The creature's smile grew wider as it slashed its claws across his torso, slicing through the fine suit that he had been wearing on-board the Valiant.

The Master looked down at the deep claw marks that now adorned his chest and heaved a huge sigh. "A shame. I really did like that suit," he said sarcastically, shutting down the nerves on his chest. The smoky figure looked at him in shock, the smile falling from its face to be replaced by a slight scowl.

"ALASTAIR!" it cried, that shrill, grating voice echoing across the abyss and making the Master wince again. "I'VE GOT A LIVE ONE FOR YA!" it cried, and the Master felt a ripple pass through the smoky air that surrounded him, and suddenly he and the creature were joined by a much larger, twelve armed demon. Instead of red eyes, this new creature had glowing pure white eyes that were devoid of anything remotely pupil shaped. The Master looked appraisingly at the creature.

Now here was one that he could respect. He could see the fastidiousness about the white-eyed demon's appearance, not a speck of dirt on its powerful form. The Master could tell just by the way it moved that this was a creature that was set in its ways, and happy with what it did. The smell of blood, smoke, and fear practically radiated off the demon in toxic waves that set the Master's skin alight with unpleasant sensations. Truly, it was a step up from 'red eyes.'

"Alastair I presume," the Master intoned, drawing the creature's white eyes to his own insane brown and gold ones. He felt a little probing on his mind, but he didn't even try to throw up any mental barriers. Let the creature try to get in if it was that stupid, he had the perfect defense mechanism.

Alastair was a demon of considerable age. He had been one of the first to be converted by Lucifer, and had gone to hell in biblical times. Over the course of twelve thousand years (that's hell years, not earth years) he had worked his way up to Grand Master Torturer. In all that time, he had seen all sorts of twisted and chaotic soul's pass through, but none had had any real value. A few here or there that he had enjoyed breaking, but none that really caught his eye.

He always enjoyed getting into his victim's head, learning their darkest secrets so he could torture and hurt them more efficiently. But as he entered this man's mind, his entire body wracked in pain as a noise surged across their psychic link. Drums. A banging, crashing, incessant beat of four. It was so loud and forceful that Alastair couldn't even form a proper thought, and with growing horror he felt the rest of the man's mind beating in symphony with the Drums, bathing in the madness it brought. With a horrified gasp, Alastair yanked out of the damned soul's mind, breaking off the psychic contact. He saw the man smirk up at him, and couldn't help but shiver as he heard, in his own, demonic head, and echo of the Drums.

"Who are you?" he breathed out, his white eyes widened with horror. The man smiled at him, insanity and mad genius etched across his face. "I, my dear creature, am the Master!" he said triumphantly, the name rolling out of his mouth like it was pure sin. He turned his eyes onto the two demons, who were still looking down on him.

"Now, obviously I am not on earth, otherwise I would know exactly where I am. So, question of the hour, gentleman, is 'Where am I?'" the Master said, flicking his eyes back and forth between the red eyed and white eyed demons. As he spoke, he felt the cuts on his chest knit back together, his Timelord healing prowess showing itself, not even leaving behind a scar as was customary for a soul in hell.

Alastair must have once again found his courage, because a smirk split his face from ear to devilish ear as he answered the Master. "Why, my dear, you are in Hell. Surely my…" he broke off, looking at the red eyed demon with a considering gaze. "Friend here, explained that to you." Alastair said the word 'friend' like it was the most disgusting word in the English language, which the Master wholeheartedly agreed with. Who needs friends, when you can have slaves? Friends were a concept that the Master found so very Doctorish.

"What do you mean, hell?" he asked, putting his 'not funny' face on. Oh, that had been a laugh, killing the cabinet like that! His mind was drawn back to Alastair as the demon chuckled. "Must I explain everything to you little humans?" the white-eyed creature drawled, obviously annoyed. "When people have done really bad things," he said, beginning to speak to the Master like an adult would talk to a whining toddler. "They go to hell as punishment. Didn't Mummy teach you that?" he asked, an overly smug grin on the Grand Master Torturer's face.

The Master looked ready to leap out of his restraints and strangle the white-eyed idiot. How dare he talk to him like that! Only the Master was allowed to do that!

"Rassilon, you're dense!" he cried in exasperation. "Of course I know what hell is! I'm just wondering what I'm doing in it! I mean, I know that I deserve it, more that anyone really, but still, I should have been shot to oblivion. Not sent here like some pathetic hairless ape. And you really think I'm going to believe this is hell? I suppose you're going to ask me to believe you're demons next. And that there's god and angels, and, oh, Satan maybe. Because I'm not that dense, and I have seen things that you cannot possibly imagine!" he shrieked, the Drums banging away in his head, urging him to lash out and destroy these pathetic imps.

Alastair smirked. "Oh I think we're going to have fun with you," he said softly, grabbing the Master with six of his twelve arms, yanking him out of his chains and dragging him deeper into hell, where he would spend the rest of his days until he emerged as a demon.

* * *

 

The Master was bored. Really, he was. It had been two hundred years by his count, and Alastair seemed to be exhausting his supply of ideas on how to make the Master have any kind of reaction. For someone who had been crowned "Grand Master Torturer of Hell," the white-eyed demon was really unimaginative. The Master had even provided a few pointers on how he could do his job better, which just made the demon angrier.

The Master hardly ever felt the blades on his skin or in his body. He just ignored them and fantasized about all the ways he would shiv and screw the demon over when he finally got out of these chains. Every time the demon tried to get into his head, the Master let him, allowing the Drums to wash over his consciousness, slowly driving the poor demon insane. Sometimes he would scream and pretend to be in severe pain, giving the demon a false handhold, if only to get some amusement out of his situation when he saw the demon's face fall when he discovered his ruse. Once, the Master allowed the façade to go on for a week, before growing tired of miming pain and allowing his shrieks to turn into low chuckles.

And never once, in all his time in hell, did the Drums relent. They provided a much greater torture than anything Alastair could possibly hope to imagine. They were there, in his mind, pounding away, calling him to greatness and power, but the Master was shackled, unable to follow the call.

And so, when the Master finally left hell, he stuck his tongue out at the arch-demon as he swept upwards, back into the land of the living.

* * *

 

The Master opened his eyes, looking around as his body materialized in a swirling column of blue energy. His backup plan had worked, and now his followers were giving their lives so that he, their Master, could live again.

"Never," the Master gasped, his chest heaving as his lungs reformed, filling his abdomen with sweet, clean air that he had not breathed in over 200 years. "…Never Dying!  _Never Dying!_ " he cried out victoriously, his laugh echoing around the room.

His gaze turned forward, catching the eyes of two terrified hairless apes. "Oh, Lucy!" he cried, stretching his arms out to the idiotic woman who had killed him. "Oh Lucy Saxon, my ever faithful! Did the widow's kiss bring me back to life?" he called, puckering his lips.

"Stop it Harry!" she shouted, and his nose wrinkled as he heard the disgusting human name he had made for himself. "Can't you see you're killing them?" she implored, tears welling in her stupid human eyes. The Master looked down his nose at his pathetic followers, who were by now kneeling, their life force being drained so that he could live. "Let them die," he said with a smirk, truly not caring. "They're just the first. The whole stinking, stupid, human disgrace can fall into the pit!"

He took in another breath, bathing in the column of light formed by the souls of his foolish followers. "Can't you hear them, Lucy?" he asked, closing his eyes as he felt the soothing, crashing melody of the Drums course through his head. "The Drums," he whispered softly, as if saying the name of a long forgotten lover. Lucy shivered as that voice that was sweet as sin washed over her. "Louder than ever before," the Master hissed, opening eyes and gazing at the human before him with an almost fondness.

His eyes hardened, however, as he saw Lucy stand and pull out a flask of liquid. "But I knew you better than anyone, Harry, and I knew you would come back. And while you made the potion of life, I contacted some people who were clever enough to produce the opposite!" She uncapped the flask, and the room was suddenly pervaded by the sickly sweet scent of death. "Don't you dare!" the Master cried, his eyes flicking to the side, where he saw a tall man in a suit appear out of thin air. ' _A reaper'_  he thought, and he suddenly became desperate as the gravity of the situation hit him. "I am your Master!" he shouted.

"'Till death, do us part, Harry!" Lucy cried in a sickeningly smug voice, and the Master screamed as he watched her hurl the potion of death at him. As it shattered, the building exploded with blue fire, and he felt a horrible tearing in his gut. Looking up, he watched the reaper approach him, steadily reaching out to try to collect his soul again. With a cry of rage, he hauled himself to his now corporeal feet and launched himself at the agent of death, hands out wide and mouth twisted in a snarl. By now he was nothing more than pure animal instinct, his rational mind having almost shut down from the pain. Now his actions were only dictated by his will for survival and the never ending drums that were screaming at him to survive, to kill, to dominate, to  _win, **to consume.**_

**TO EAT! EAT! EAT! EAT!**

When the Master finally came to, he was surrounded by burned bricks and rubble, and a strange emptiness had settled in his stomach. Looking around for the reaper, he realized that he was sitting in a cold spot. An area six feet across where no flames dared to enter. Looking down, he saw a charred body that he realized with a start was the remains of the reaper. He had eaten him whole.

Suddenly, a ripping sensation surged through the Timelord, and the Master fell to the ground, clutching his head in a grip so tight that his knuckles turned white. He opened his mouth wide as pain consumed him, and let loose an ear piercing scream that echoed across the cosmos.

* * *

 

A continent away, in a convent, a portal of light was opening slowly, a great hole into nothingness. The Winchesters had turned and fled already, and they were not able to witness the rising of Lucifer.

The fallen archangel stood there, his six huge, battered red wings spread proudly behind him, floating over his prison, free for the first time since the dawn of humankind. Blood flowed from wounds all over his body, memories of the pit of torment where he had been cast by Michael in the first war. All around him, the convent began to burn up, his power immolating the structure. He needed to find a vessel quickly.

Suddenly, a head splitting cry of pain burst through his mind, a telepathic cry of agony so profound that the Devil could do nothing but halt and listen. It was a cry for help, and the source was definitely mortal, but he was equally certain that it was not human.

Flexing his red wings, he transformed into a great swirling mass of glowing blue white energy, his grace diminished immensely but still powerful. He sailed across the states, over an ocean, before landing in a small ruined building. He saw a man sprawled on the ground, clutching his head and screaming in agony. The telepathic cry came again, so strong in intensity that Lucifer physically flinched. Sending a trail of thought towards the man, Lucifer attempted to breach his mind. However, he was thrown back by the sheer force of a noise: the sound of Drums. He intensified his thoughts, and suddenly broke through the maddening sound.

'What on earth is wrong with you!' he shouted, peering into the alien mind. The fallen angel was shocked to find that this man, despite appearances, was far from human. He detected a great consciousness that was well over a thousand years old, and had seen over a dozen lifetimes. Strange that so much knowledge could be packed in so tight a form, and especially one as damaged as this.

Lucifer paused for a moment. He felt a strange sort of grace pulsing off of this man, a sort of not-grace that emanated from the mortal's soul. Taking a sip of it, Lucifer's entire being shuddered in ecstasy. That energy! It tasted like the sweetest fruit and finest wine the fallen angel had ever had the pleasure of beholding, and it practically radiated power. The devil could feel it in him, healing his broken grace, calling him to grandeur and glory. It wasn't a lot, but certainly enough to make a difference in his overall power.

'How the hell are you able to stay in my mind?' asked a harsh voice, and the archangel recoiled, surprised that the man had been able to reply to his telepathic call. What's more, the man was looking straight at him. At his true form. And his eyes weren't being burned out.

Well, this was certainly interesting.

"Who are you, little mortal?" Lucifer asked in his true voice, enjoying the feeling of finally being able to speak after thousands of years in the pit. He was more than shocked when he saw the man before give a little smirk, not even flinching at the sound of his voice. "Oh, are we speaking out loud now?" he asked with a cocky smirk. "I thought we were having an intimate moment there, what with you up in my noggin'."

Suddenly, a flash pierced through the man's body, and he collapsed back to the ground clutching his chest, his face again contorted in pain. Lucifer rushed forward, his huge form kneeling down to cradle the man.

Lucifer's true form was massive, easily twice the size of any skyscraper, and his six massive wings, when fully extended, could cover an entire city. Of course, no one could see him in that form, and he couldn't interact with anything physical. So why did he feel a solid connection when one of his massive fingers soothed over the ailing man?

Better question: why did he care? He hated the mud monkeys more than anything, and this one should be no exception. A frown formed over his beautiful face, and he leaned closer, shrinking his form down until he was roughly the size of the man. Still intangible, but now able to see eye to eye.

The Master flinched as he felt a slight breeze trail over his form, and his eyes snapped open before immediately squinting to avoid the radiance of the creature before him. He felt semi-solid arms wrap around him, holding him in a cradled position that was oddly intimate. The Timelord slowly opened his eyes more, allowing the orifices to adjust to the intensity, until finally he could look upon the form holding him.

His breath caught in his chest, and his twin pulses quickened. He had lived for over a thousand years, seen more sights and strange creatures than anyone else in the universe, and had even held the time vortex in his being for an entire year. But he had never seen another creature more beautiful than the one before him.

It was impossible to describe the face of the devil, for it was always changing into something more breathtaking than the last. His form was made entirely of a glowing white essence that was near blinding, all excpet for his chest, which was made of pure darkness and was sucking in matter like a perverse black hole. In and in and in.

Six massive, bloody red wings stretched away from him, big as the room they were in, and glowing with power. The Master turned his eyes onto the creature's face, truly afraid for once in his long life. He had no doubt that this creature could wipe him from existence with only a thought, and this time there would be no coming back. "Who are you," the Master whispered reverently, the drums in his head quiet for once.

The creature smiled. "I asked first," he said, in a voice that was dripping with seduction and power. The Master tilted his head to the side, and a silly little grin split his face. "True," he said softly. "I tell you mine, you tell me yours. I'm the Master," he said with a grin, holding his hand out in a mock handshake.

The devil smiled softly, amused by this mortal's flirtatious mannerisms. "Lucifer," he said, and accepted the hand the Master offered to him.

Instantly, both of their hand's grew hot, and the Master ripped his away with hiss of pain. He shook it a few times until the heat dissipated, and then looked back at the creature still sitting before him. Lucifer just sat there stunned, unable to believe what had just happened. "We're compatible," he said softly, more to himself than the Master. The Timelord looked at the fallen angel with a mix of confusion and disbelief. Then, his mind seemed to register the name of the creature who was cradling him, and he recoiled out of the creature's grip, scrambling back a few feet on his hands and feet, trying to put some distance between them. Lucifer did nothing but stare at his own singed hand, which was healing rapidly before his eyes.

"Lucifer?" the Master asked, his voice cracking a little. "As in, the Devil? The king of Downstairs?"

A laugh escaped his mouth, his head spinning with the irony of he, the Master, killer of millions, being cradled by the Devil. "That Lucifer?" he asked, looking at the creature with newfound interest.

The angel's only move was to turn his head towards him with a strange look in his ever shifting eyes. "You and I are fully compatible," he said again, completely ignoring the Master's question, his sweet as sin voice dripping with what might have been awe. "You're not just a possible vessel, you're more than that. It's like you're made for me!" he said, his voice becoming more excited as he spoke, and suddenly he was right in the Master's face, a leer on his face that was positively disturbing.

The Master didn't recoil this time, though, and instead allowed the Drums to once again wash over his mind, taking solace in their strength. "What do you mean, vessel?" he asked slowly, his mind working through all the possible connotations that could mean. He remembered Alastair once telling him about how demons can only walk the earth in human vessels, or "meatsuits," as the demon's called them. A term that the Master had found all too funny then, but now that he was a possible candidate for such a word, he found far less amusing.

"I need a physical form to walk the earth. You are one of the few vessels that can not only sustain me, but might even be able to hold me permanently!" Lucifer said, his eyes flashing with wonder, as if the Master was some kind of exotic butterfly that had gotten itself trapped in a jar for him to examine. The Master didn't like that analogy at all;  _he_ was the one who was supposed to make people uncomfortable!

'Strange,' Lucifer thought to himself. 'I thought only Sam Winchester could do that.' He was brought out of his musings as the Timelord shifted a bit.

"Let me get this straight," the Master said slowly, a grin spreading across his face that was eerily similar to the one that Lucifer wore. "Am I being asked out on a date? By the Devil?"

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, truly amused with the whole situation, and the drums became just a little bit louder. Lucifer also let a small laugh, truly intrigued by this mortal's complete lack of fear. "Basically, yes," the archangel said softly, his eyes taking in the form of his prospective vessel.

The Master raised an eyebrow, not trusting the entity before him. "What's in it for me?" he asked, before letting out a scream as a sharp pain ripped through his midsection and his body flared, turning translucent for a moment to reveal his bluish colored bones.

Lucifer was there in an instant, wrapping his strong, cold arms around the Master and soothing away the pain. "Well, for one thing, I could find a way to fix you," he said softly, and the Master's eyes brightened a bit at that prospect.

From his brief look into the man's mind, Lucifer had seen that he was far from human. He had some truly admirable traits, such as a life force that dwarfed a human's, and a body that was biologically stronger and more stable than a fragile human's. That is, he would if he were in a more stable condition, but from what he had seen his life force and body had been rebelling against each other, causing an imbalance in the chemical makeup and forcing him to destabilize and act out in bursts of energy. If he could somehow stabilize the Master, then he would be a truly incredible vessel.

The Master looked into the eyes of the Devil and pondered his options. He saw three before him: One, he could say no, and the angel would probably leave him to die. Two, he could say no, the devil would leave, and he could call the Doctor. The Master shook his head at that thought; he did not need that happy go lucky do-gooder running around trying to 'fix him.'

So that left option three: say yes, and let the devil fix him. He looked into the face of Lucifer, and saw himself reflected back. A grin cracked across his face. 'Well, here goes nothing,' he thought, hearing the Drums pounding along to the rhythm of his thoughts. "Sure, why not?" he said. When all Lucifer did was cock his head to the side, the Master let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, are we doing this formally? All right, the answer is yes!" he said, and he saw the largest grin he had ever seen appear on Lucifer's face.

Suddenly, Lucifer's form evaporated into a glowing white mist that swirled around the destroyed building before flowing into the Master's open mouth. The Master had a brief sense of déjà vu, as he recalled how he had once possessed a human this way after he had crashed the Doctor's TARDIS after his so called 'execution.'

He felt the archangel's essence pooling in his chest and wrapping around his soul, mingling with the Time Vortex energy that had been part of him since he was eight years old. He felt the drums shift, now a little softer and more soothing than anything else; spread more thinly across two minds rather than one. There was a brief struggle over who would remain in control, before the Master heard a voice in his head speak to him.

' _Relax, I can't fix your body if you're in control. Besides, there are a few things I have to do before I can let you go. Please, just give me your body!'_  Lucifer begged, and the Master laughed a bit. ' _Oh, what kinds of things?_ ' he asked, still not relinquishing total control yet. A Timelord's main weapon was his mind, and the Master had always been, well, a  _master,_  when it came to the mental arts. He could feel Lucifer's massive power pressing in on him, but he was more than strong enough to fend him off.

Finally, Lucifer consented. ' _Try the extinction of the human race,_ ' he said, and the Master practically leaped for joy when he heard that pronouncement. ' _Oh, goody, that sounds fun! When do we start?_ ' he asked, and he heard Lucifer's amused laughter. ' _As soon as you give me your body,_ ' he said. The archangel felt the Master smirk. ' _And after we're done with that?_ ' he asked, wanting to be sure of the ground rules before he signed away his…well, not his soul, necessarily, but certainly his body.

Lucifer sighed. ' _After that, well, we'll do what's best. But I won't control you. I doubt I could stop you from watching what I do with your body, as you're more than capable of navigating your own mind. Plus, I doubt I could be able to manage with these damnable drums in just_ my _head. How can you stand them?_ ' he asked.

The Master laughed. ' _Years of practice. Now, you won't try to put me to sleep, and I won't try to kick you out. And after we're done with the apocalypse and you've healed me, I get off scot free. Do we have a deal?_ ' he asked, offering a mental hand.

Lucifer smiled. ' _We can negotiate the fine details, but you have a deal._ ' And with that, he took the hand.

* * *

 

Lucifer opened his eyes and filled the lungs of his new body. He immediately set to work stabilizing the vessel, and shuddered when he felt his wings rip out of his back. Standing up, he admired his body. He was clad in dark jeans, a red t-shirt, and a black hoodie. His face and hands exuded power, and crackled with his powerful grace. Inhaling through his nose, Lucifer reveled in the Timelord's senses. The nose alone was capable of picking up scents ten miles away, and his eyesight was sharper than any human's.

Flaring his massive red wings, he tilted his head back and let out a cry of triumph, before launching himself high into the air with a kick from his powerful leg muscles. Sailing a mile into the sky, he looked down on the scrap yard where his vessel had been residing, and his mind was filled with disgust. The drums were banging away in his head, telling him to destroy the wretched place. He pushed his feet down, forcing the air to solidify, so that he was standing straight up, looking down on the place from a mile above the earth's surface. Raising his hand, he felt his power pool and flex, and heard the Master whisper ' _Do it!'_ softly in his ear. With a shout, he released the energy and shot a beam of pure power, a combination of grace, lightning, and artron energy out of his hands, immolating the ground beneath him and setting off a massive explosion. The fire roared high in the air, curling in on itself and hurling outward, as if praising the Master of Darkness. Lucifer tilted his head back and laughed, reveling in his victory.

The Master...reborn

The Devil...walking free

_The Master of Darkness, reborn!_

With a flap of his wings, he was gone.


End file.
